Unapproachable
by cumberpatchcats
Summary: Jehan is a romantic. He wants a relationship. Like a real actual relationship, but he knows he won't get one from Courfeyrac, the campus slut. (University!AU any triggers will be included in chapters. Jehan/Courf, Enjolras/Grantaire, Jehan is gaaaaaaaaaay and the Les Amis are a bunch of lazy freeloaders)
1. prologue

**Beep.**

**The number you have dialed is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone.**

**Beep.**

"Jean. Jean it's Couf. I don't know if you're actually gone or if you're huddling in the corner listening to this stupid message like the little wimp you are, but I'm kind of hoping it's the former because it'd make things a whole lot embarrassing, probably for the both of us. I just…okay, I'm going to come right out and say it. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay? You were the best thing to ever happen in my life and I fucking blew it. I know I can't make any excuses and I'm a shitfaced scumbag cunt and you deserve someone ten times the man I am, but I'm in love with you. I've been in love with you since day one; I swear I'm not just pulling your leg. I can't even remember what I did in my life before you. I mean, I know I did _something_ because I was alive, obviously, but…shit sorry I don't know where I was going with that. I'm not good with words, Jean, I'm not a poetic genius like you so I know I'm rambling. And it's not fair either, that I'm cursed like this because I have all these thoughts in my head right now that I can't spit out of my mouth, and nothing I say is coming out right. All I really want to say is that I'm sorry I royally fucked things up and I know you don't have a single reason to forgive me, but I really need to hear your voice right now, Jean Prouvaire. Your heart is so big, my little poet, and that's one of the many reasons I fell in love with you, so just please, if you can find just a sliver in that heart of yours to speak to me again, I'd very much apprecia-,"

**Your message time has expired. Please hang up or, press one for more options. **

The voice of the answering machine echoed throughout the entire room, stripped bare and completely empty of any furniture or possessions besides the solitary phone in the center of the vacancy.


	2. Jehan really likes clouds

Jehan smiles as he only half-heartedly stirs his coffee. With his other hand he writes, though his eyes are not fixated on his paper but rather on the striking young gentleman across the room. Tall, tanned, radiant eyes, strong jawline.

Jehan will not approach Courfeyrac-at least, not romantically. They've exchanged a few words here and there and have seen each on occasion, both sharing Enjolras as a mutual friend, Enjolras and Courfeyrac being friends since they were practically infants and Jehan being Enjolras's new roommate. But Jehan knows better. Courfeyrac is not approachable. His reputation on campus as the only man who will sleep with anything that breathes scares Jehan into simply admiring the womanizer from a distance.

Contrary to popular belief, Jehan is probably the only person in the world whose pants Courfeyrac does not want to get in. And by that, he means, if Jehan ever asked him for a shag, he'd pounce on the poet and have him on the spot, but he is by no means willing to initialize intimacy with the poet. See, Jehan is a flower. Soft, delicate, innocent, and sometimes Courfeyrac enjoys breaking the innocent yes, but there's just something about that subtle aura that surrounds Jehan's entire being that makes Courfeyrac want to take delicate care of this flower, and having sex with a flower isn't exactly taking care of it. And it's probably illegal.

Courfeyrac stands up, no longer interested in watching Grantaire sleep in the comfy armchair of the coffee shop, waking up every few minutes to bitch about how terrible the sun and happiness and hope and life is. Jeez, what a fucking cynic.

He stops in front of Jehan, who does not seem very surprised to see him. "Writing again, Prouvaire?"

Jehan nods carelessly, dropping his head down to keep his eyes on his journal. When he does, his blond hair drapes over his face so that Courfeyrac can hardly make out his profile.

"Don't you get sick of it?" Courfeyrac snorts, taking the seat across the poet without permission, although Jehan doesn't seem to mind. "Like, don't you do enough writing in class?"

At that comment, Jehan lets out a small laugh and tucks a large strand of hair back behind his ear where it belongs. "Enjolras does nothing but debate outside of debate class."

Courfeyrac simply shrugs. "All right, you win." Then he reaches an arm across the table to snatch Jehan's journal. "Whatcha writing?"

If it had been anybody else, Jehan would have screamed and tore his journal away from them-his poetry outside of school was special, you know, and nobody was especially allowed to see a poem that had not been revised at least ten times over. Courfeyrac knew this, but he did not care, and Jehan did not care. He had stolen the poetry journal the very first time they had met, when Enjolras had wandered into the café with Courfeyrac on his tail, and happened to spot Jehan sitting at this very table. After he and Courfeyrac had been introduced, Courfeyrac immediately noticed the journal beneath Jehan's hand and had swiped it without a word. Jehan had gasped and held out his hand momentarily as if in an attempt to get his work back, but it was halfhearted from the very start and Jehan hadn't been able to figure out why. He still hasn't been able to figure out why.

Courfeyrac had read a poem and Jehan had fidgeted. When Courfeyrac had set the book back down in front of its owner, his face broke into a stupid grin and Jehan was expecting him to call the poem childish, funny, ridiculous, or all of the above. Instead, Courfeyrac had asked when Jehan had sold his soul to the devil for talent like that. Jehan had promptly choked on his own saliva and proceeded to have a three minute long coughing fit. What a great first impression.

Courfeyrac tilts his head to the side and his lips curl into the same goofy smile he had shown the very first time he had read Jehan's poetry and every time since then. He slides the journal back into Jehan's hands.

"Well?" Jehan asks impatiently, closing the journal and using it as an armrest.

"I could fall asleep reading that."

Jehan snorts. "Thanks a lot." The sarcasm in his voice is quite evident.

"I'm serious!" Courfeyrac insists. "I could really fall asleep. It's just so…" he struggles to find the right words. "Peaceful. Calming. It's like a lullaby, but for grown-ups, and without, you know, a song. And I swear that is a very interesting way to interpret clouds."

"You think?"

Courfeyrac laughs. "Dude, if I see a bunch of clouds in the sky, I get miserable. Clouds mean rain, and rain doesn't make anybody but Grantaire happy because that bastard hates everything people love and loves everything people hate. It's cold and wet, and it all comes from clouds. But you," here he points an accusatory finger at the author. "Do you really believe that? That clouds-even rain clouds represent purity? Innocence, even?"

At this, Jehan shrugs. "Not innocence, no. I doubt clouds live for very long. They're simply born out of nowhere and spend their entire life in the sky, floating around aimlessly and colliding with other clouds, all sharing the same faith. They look down on Earth and see everything, the good and the bad, so I wouldn't call them exactly innocent, but just think about how much they help the human race! They provide entertainment-you know, remember when you were a kid and every cloud looked like a dragon or an ice cream cone? They certainly make for excellent photographs, especially when they shroud really tall mountains like some sort of hazy security guard, and just when the world needs it most, they can provide rain, actual water falling out of the sky to clean the plants and to seep into the soil, isn't that magical?" As he speaks, his eyes are large and shiny and his chest rises and falls with every heated breath he takes. Eventually, his hands start flying about in all directions like a child discussing his birthday party.

Courfeyrac is completely intrigued. Not about the clouds, he couldn't give two shits about them, but at Jehan's enthusiasm. His interpretations. His passion for the most trivial of things. And Courfeyrac sighs. "You're so much better company than Grantaire."

Jehan gives a soft smile. "And there's another thing."

"Yeah?" Courfeyrac leans forward so his elbows are resting on the table.

Jehan mimics him, leaning forward as well so that they're closer than they've ever been to each other, but still at a reasonably reputable distance. "Yeah," Jehan repeats. "Clouds are really romantic."

Of course. Courfeyrac gives a short giggle. In the end, Jehan is obsessed with romance. Everything is romantic to him. "How so?" Courfeyrac asks, curious to hear Jehan's explanation this time.

Jehan's entire face is still lit up as he speaks. A stand of blond hair falls out of place again and he tucks it back behind his ear and says "clouds bring rain, and rain is really romantic too."

Courfeyrac lets out a pppfffttt of disbelief. "You're shitting me."

"I'm not!" Jehan insists, perhaps leaning forward a bit more. "You know, I've always wanted to be kissed in the rain."

At that, Courfeyrac lets out a round of large laughter, his shoulders shaking with every chuckle. "No, no Prouvaire, no you don't. Being kissed in the rain is horrible, trust me, I've done it."

The phrase is shocking to both of them, and silence falls upon the table.

Both parties lean away from each other and sit with their spines to the back of the chair-well, Courfeyrac slouches a bit.

"Oh," is Jehan's response, although Courfeyrac can't tell if it's disappointment or indifference in his voice. Jehan clears his throat as his rebellious strand of hair falls out of place again. "Of course you have," he says softly as he tucks the strand back.

Jehan does not want to be reminded of Courfeyrac's promiscuous activities. He doesn't want to imagine someone standing out in the romantic rain, cold and wet and kissing Courfeyrac. He clears his throat yet again and begins to stand up. "I have to go," he says briefly. "I'll see you around, yeah?"

And Courfeyrac manages out a simple "yeah" as he watches the poet take his leave.

Courfeyrac is a dangerous man. Both he and Jehan know it. He must not pursue Jehan, and Jehan must not pursue him, for if they happen to meet in the middle, disaster would be soon to follow.


	3. parties suck

It's all Combeferre's fault, really. It's always the quiet ones who turn out to be ferocious party animals. He shouldn't have thrown the party in the first place, and Joly had wholeheartedly agreed. When there didn't seem to be an end to the alcohol and people were literally swinging from the lights, Joly had excused himself for the remainder of the party with the excuse that he was going to have a panic attack and puke and he wanted to be alone to do it.

Combeferre insisted it was a party to celebrate Enjolras's return from the living dead after mid-term hell week had officially ended. Enjolras blatantly refused. Combeferre threatened to cry. Enjolras refused even more profusely. Combeferre threatened to buy the biggest national flag he could find and stomp on it, roll it in the dirt, and set it on fire. Enjolras punched him. He then looked frightened, as if afraid Combeferre would really do it, and agreed to come-but on the condition he brought a friend. Combeferre told him he really couldn't give a fuck.

Jehan liked parties. He enjoyed being with friends, and so when Enjolras sent him a distress text saying he had been blackmailed into attending a party and wanted Jehan to be his date because Jehan was the last hope of sensibility on the planet, Jehan had agreed instantly.

It's certainly a rowdy party. Combeferre swears he didn't know how the hell the kids from the robotics club and the entire basketball team found out about a party that was supposed to be exclusive and invite-only, but he suspects it has to do with Joly's planned panic attack and inability to keep his paranoid mouth shut. Enjolras pretty much spends the entire evening screaming and everything, especially Combeferre.

Jehan doesn't recognize too many people. When the party began, he had mostly stuck by Enjolras's side, but as much as Enjolras was a good friend, he was also excruciatingly boring, so Jehan had ventured off in search of a familiar face.

It doesn't take too long before a plastic cup full of liquid is held in front of him. When Jehan glances at the man in front of him, he immediately perks up. "I should have known you'd be here," he says as he takes the cup into his own hands.

Courfeyrac lets out a light chuckle. "Naturally. Parties are the best place to pick up a hot chick." And he regrets the sentence as soon as it leaves his lips.

Jehan bites his bottom lip awkwardly and directs his eyes away from Courfeyrac's face. Of course, this gives Courfeyrac the excellent moment to scan Jehan's entire body. The poet is dressed in a grey and white striped sweater and a pair of casual faded jeans, one leg of which is ripped open at the knee, a fashion choice that surprises Courfeyrac. Jehan's hair is pulled back into a very loose, half-assed attempt at a braid down to right between his shoulder blades so that strands of long blond hair are falling out of it in every direction. Jehan isn't significantly shorter than Courfeyrac, his nose comes to about Courfeyrac's lips. He looks like a flower, Courfeyrac decides. He always looks like a flower. Always.

And then Jehan speaks. "Any luck?" He hopes his voice doesn't sound broken.

Courfeyrac tries to play it cool as he sighs and folds his arms behind his neck. "Not so far. I think I've given up for tonight."

"That's too bad," Jehan says, finally holding the cup in his hands up to his lips and taking a sip.

Courfeyrac gives another sigh, this one drawn-out much longer than the first. "Yeah."

Jehan gets drunk easily. Jehan doesn't even drink most of the time, which is probably the main reason why he can't hold his liquor. Courfeyrac should have known-in fact, he probably does know-and yet he's the one constantly supplying Jehan with beer after beer. He thinks it's funny. He thinks it's cute how Jehan does nothing but laugh when he's drunk, how he runs off into rambles, but his passion stays the same-or perhaps grows larger-than when he's completely sober.

Enjolras looks over at the two of them once, and shudders in horror upon his eyes falling on Jehan's form, slumped against the wall and shaking with each burst of laughter, Courfeyrac standing over him-too close, too close-handing him yet another cup of beer. After that, Enjolras slips away from the party, knowing that his last hope of sensibility had flown out the door.

"You know," Jehan says, giggling again. "All the times we've seen each other, we've talked a lot, like a lot, and I don't even have your phone number!"

Five minutes and lots of stumbling later, Jehan enters his number into Courfeyrac's contact list, and Courfeyrac into Jehan's. A minute after that, Courfeyrac is finally completely hammered.

"I can't find my pocket," Jehan giggles as he reached behind himself but cannot find a place to put his phone.

"Let me help," Courfeyrac insists, probably not completely innocently. Jehan agrees, however, and Courfeyrac slips an arm between Jehan's back and the wall, his hand curling around Jehan's phone. He stops breathing as he feels around Jehan's backside trying to find the pocket. At one point, Jehan lets out a little yelp and another fit of giggling, but otherwise seems to be completely unfazed.

Eventually, the pocket is found, and Courfeyrac slips the phone inside much slower than necessary. Like seriously, he doesn't need to shove his entire hand in Jehan's back pocket to slip the phone in, but he does so anyways, and no matter how drunk he is, he knows he's being dangerous again.

Both of them are completely aware that Courfeyrac's hand is still in Jehan's back pocket. Both of them are aware of Jehan slowly sliding a hand up Courfeyrac's torso to grab a fistful of T-shirt right above Courfeyrac's stomach. Both of them are aware that Courferyac is leaning forward, and forward, and forward still, until Jehan can feel hot breath against his face.

Jehan's head slams into the wall the moment their lips collide. One of Courfeyrac's hands slams against the wall right next to Jehan's head, as if added assurance that Jehan won't try an run. His other hand tugs at Jehan's hair, fingers tangling in the golden locks and disturbing the poor braid even further. Jehan keeps one hand twisted in the fabric of Courfeyrac's shirt and the other hanging limp at his side.

It's not a soft kiss. It's rough and hard and Courfeyrac nips at Jehan's lip, causing the poet to cry out but not attempt to move away. It's painful when their teeth clack together, but both of them are too drunk and consumed with lust to give a fuck. Their mouths move together, open and active, tongue wrapping around each other and across teeth and down the sides of the opposite person's throat. If either of them were sober, it probably would have felt disgusting, but both were so far gone they were probably literally trying to swallow each other down.

Courfeyrac breathes into Jehan's mouth and Jehan breathes back, and groans as Courfeyrac yanks harshly at his head. Jehan keeps his fist in Courfeyrac's shirt, his fingers trembling, though if it's from the alcohol or the excitement is completely unclear. The hand that originally lay limp at his side comes up to grab Courfeyrac's hip, just where pelvis meets thigh.

That's when Courfeyrac feels wet. It comes as a complete surprise, the feeling of water dripping onto his face as if it were raining indoors. He is the first to break away, practically horrified, stumbling backwards a few inches and gazing directly at Jehan's face.

Jehan looks stoned, his eyes fixated on nothing, his mouth parted, his chest rising and falling unevenly, and his legs practically shaking beneath him. And he's crying. The tears that had fallen on Courfeyrac had originated from the corner of Jehan's eyes, but the poet does not make a sound.

Oh god.

Courfeyrac panics. His breath hitches and he grabs a fistful of his own hair knowing that he had just touched the one person he swore he would not touch. Jehan was his flower, his beautiful flower that he wanted to keep sweet and innocent, and he had to go and screw it up. He slammed Jehan. He pulled at his hair rough and harsh, he smashed his lips upon Jehan whereas Jehan deserved to be kissed softly and sweetly. Courfeyrac can't do anything right.

He turns to leave and go beat himself up, but Jehan grabs at his shirt again, another round of tears falling down his face. "Courf," he whispers.

'No,' Courfeyrac thinks. 'No, don't say anything. Don't forgive me. Don't reprimand me. Don't cast me away. Don't keep me.' But he stands still anyways.

"I don't care," Jehan croaks, twisting his trembling fingers into Courfeyrac's shirt. "I want you, Courf. I want you. I don't care if you screw other people too, I'll let you do whatever you want with whoever you want, just let me have you too. Please."

Jehan's tears might be contagious because Courfeyrac certainly feels like crying. He lets out a deep sigh and holds Jehan's face in his hands. Jehan reaches up to grab Courfeyrac's forearms as the taller man leans forward and presses a firm kiss upon the poet's forehead.

"You don't deserve that, Jean," Courfeyrac whispers against Jehan's skin. Their foreheads touch momentarily before Courfeyrac pulls away, yanking his forearms from Jehan's grasp. Jehan lets out a whine and reaches to touch Courfeyrac again, but Courfeyrac steps backwards again. And then he's gone, turning his back and shoving his way past the crowd.

Jehan's legs give in and he falls to his knees. He rearranges himself so that he's sitting with his back against the wall and his arms around his knees, where he remains until Combeferre spots him and calls Enjolras. Enjolras responds by telling Combeferre to go fuck himself, this was all his fault in the first place, and to bring Jehan back himself because he wasn't going back.

Courfeyrac grabs the nearest person he can find (after crossing all the way across the room of course)-a raven haired dark skinned beauty-and promptly shoves his tongue down her throat.

When Combeferre shows up at Enjolras's door, Jehan is giggling and fiddling with the back of Combeferre's collar. Enjolras looks disgusted-he always looks disgusted-and takes Jehan by the hand to lead him back into the room. Before the door is shut, Jehan waves clumsily at Combeferre, who awkwardly returns the wave and an apologetic look mainly directed towards Enjolras.

Enjolras sits Jehan down on the edge of his bed and begins to untangle the poet's unruly hair-not because he liked playing with Jehan's hair of course, only because he didn't want to listen to Jehan bitch about how tangled his hair would be after sleeping on such a mess already.

Jehan giggles as Enjolras undoes the braid and takes a hairbrush to his hair. He giggles over and over, non-stop until he needs to pause to take several deep breaths and refill his lungs. He's acting like an idiot, but nobody important is around to care.

When he pauses though, his face falls and he simply stares straight ahead and Enjolras immediately understands. He tries to lean back and go to sleep on his bed, but Enjolras pushes him back up so he can finish unknotting Jehan's hair. He will NOT listen to Jehan's whining about his hair, especially combined with the inevitable hangover he was going to have tomorrow.

After Enjolras finishes brushing, he gives Jehan's hair one last comforting stroke with his hand, almost like an apology of sorts. Immediately, Jehan falls back onto his bed and rolls onto his side facing the wall. Enjolras sighs and walks around to at least remove Jehan's shoes.

While he's doing so, Jehan croaks. "I wish you had never introduced me to that dumb Courfeyrac."

Enjolras lets out an exasperated sigh. "Jesus Christ Jehan, I warned you he was a bastard. I didn't mean for you to go and fall in love with him."

"_I warned you he was a bastard I didn't mean for you to go and fall in love with him_," Jehan mocks. Then he sighs and rolls onto his back, his eyes fixed on the ceiling above him. "I always pick the bastards, don't I?"

Enjolras has no idea what the fuck he's saying.


	4. totally not a date

When Jehan orders without his usual radiant enthusiasm, Bahorel knows something is up. "Rough night?" He asks as he prepares the young poet's tea.

Jehan sighs deeply and nods. He leans forward on the counter and drops his head. "I'm never drinking again."

Bahorel lets out a snort. "If I had a dollar every time someone walked in here ordering tea and saying that exact phrase, I could drop out of school and start my own damn coffee shop."

He hands Jehan the tea, who takes it gladly and thanks Bahorel before flashing him a quick smile and heading off to his usual table. There wasn't any need to rush, his prose class had already started anyways and he wasn't about to humiliate himself by walking in late. His professor was also loud as fuck, and he really didn't want to be bothered with loud noises right now, so he'll just stay here and write poetry, thank you.

Speaking of loud noises, no sooner had Jehan finished the second stanza of a poem he was working on when the door burst open and two laughing figures waltzed into the café.

"Shut the fuck up," Bahorel screeches at them. "There are people here trying to recover from hangovers."

In response, one of the figures, a male, lets out another laugh before bringing a finger to his lips and letting out a "ssshh" directed towards the female beside him. The girl giggles back and repeats his actions.

When Jehan looks up, he immediately identifies the male as none other than Courfeyrac, which is just about the worst coincidence he could ever have imagined. He doesn't know who the girl hanging all over Courfeyrac is, but she seems to be drunk already.

Courfeyrac and his little friend stride to the counter, but when Courfeyrac lays eyes on Jehan, he freezes for a second. Their eyes meet, both of them initially startled until Jehan bows his head to stare at his journal, to which Courfeyrac snaps his head to Bahorel and orders a coffee for him and an éclair for the lady. With their order in hand, they make their way to a table near the window, where the female promptly sits on Courfeyrac's lap and begins making out with him.

Jehan can _hear_ them. He tries to scribble in his notebook, but the words are interrupted by the sound of lips smacking and giggling. He glances up by mistake and tries not to bite through his own tongue. He knows this is what Courfeyrac does. What he is. Courfeyrac is not approachable. He is off limits.

And yet when Jehan sees her, he remembers how it felt to be kissed by Courfeyrac, no matter how drunk they both were. He wonders if Courfeyrac remembers too. Oh god, Jehan had said some pretty embarrassing things last night. He hopes Courfeyrac forgot everything oh god oh god.

Courfeyrac happily kisses the woman on his lap, ignoring Bahorel's threats to call the police for public indecency. Eventually however, he takes her hips and gently pushes her back. He whispers in her ear and she understands, quick to stand up before laughing again and giving him another quick peck on the lips (which Jehan sees too).

It's not until she's gone and out of view that Courfeyrac stands up and strolls leisurely over to where Jehan is trying to pretend like he's been working the whole time.

Courfeyrac drops a brown paper bag in front of Jehan's face. Jehan looks up like he's unsure of what to do. "It's an éclair," he tells Jehan, and Jehan grimaces. "I bought it for a friend of mine but she left before she could have it. Must have forgotten," here he laughs.

Jehan grits his teeth as he says "she seemed nice."

Courfeyrac simply shrugs.

Jehan says nothing when Courfeyrac takes the seat across him, and Courfeyrac says nothing back. He does, however, reach across the table for Jehan's notebook, as he usually does. This time though, Jehan is hesitant. When Courfeyrac grabs the book, Jehan grabs it firmly as well, as if prohibiting him. Courfeyrac shoots Jehan a shocked expression, which Jehan returns as he's quite surprised by his own reactions, before Jehan lets go of the journal and allows Courfeyrac to take it.

Silence fills the air as Jehan tries not to look at the dark-haired man in front of him but ends up doing so anyways. Courfeyrac looks really focused on whatever he was reading, he probably doesn't notice Jehan's awkward stares.

Courfeyrac startles him when he says without warning, "your hair looks good like that."

Jehan is taken aback, blinking several times in quick succession. He had woken up upset and in pain and did not feel like fixing-or even brushing his hair. He asked Enjolras to do it, but Enjolras snarled and refused, proclaiming he had done too much for Jehan the previous night. Jehan whined and clutched Enjolras's red hoodie sleeve and begged, but Enjolras yanked his arm free and left without another word, so Jehan had simply gathered his hair up into the laziest bun imaginable and called it done.

Jehan is about to say something when Courfeyrac continues. "Although, I must say I like the braid look much better."

Jehan cringes. So Courfeyrac does remember last night. Probably. Jehan is never going to braid his hair ever again.

Eventually, Courfeyrac slides the notebook back into Jehan's reach. "This one is sad. That's unusual for you."

"Yes well," Jehan takes the journal and begins to scribble in it again. "We can't always write happy things now can we?"

"If anybody could, it would be you."

At that, Jehan locks eyes with Courfeyrac again. He can't tell what Courfeyrac is thinking because his lips are pressed firmly together and his eyes remain completely neutral. It bugs Jehan for some reason. He tries to go back to his writing.

"Hey," Courfeyrac says suddenly, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. "Hey, Prouvaire, let's do something."

Jehan looks at him in annoyance.

"No seriously." Courfeyrac breaks into a grin. "I don't have class today, how about you?"

"I have a literature analysis class at noon, Courfeyrac."

"Screw it."

"What?" Jehan scoffs. "Courf, I'm not going to 'screw' my class, okay? I need to go. I like it anyways."

"I'll take you to a mooovviee," Courfeyrac says in a playful singsong voice.

"_No_," Jehan insists.

"I'll buy your ticket," Courfeyrac continues in his singsong.

"_Courfeyrac_," Jehan hisses.

"Popcorn," is Courfeyrac's final offer. "I'll buy you a whole bag of popcorn and you can eat the whole thing."

Jehan stares at him for a long time before he finally sighs, growing tired of look at Courfeyrac's dumb looking expression (he could never grow tired of looking at Courfeyrac). "All _right_," he groans, "Just for today," and he hates (loves) the way Courfeyrac practically bounces up and down in his seat.

"It was the popcorn that sold you wasn't it?" Courfeyrac grins. "I knew you were a glutton."

"Shut up," Jehan commands. "And _don't _buy me any damn popcorn."

* * *

Jehan thought he'd have to keep reminding himself that it's not a date. 'It's not a date,' he thinks to himself when Courfeyrac leads him out of the café. 'It's not a date, it's not a date," and Jehan believes he's going to be miserable the entire time.

By the end of the day, however, Jehan has no idea what he was supposed to be reminding himself. He has an absolute blast with Courfeyrac, so much so that Jehan forgets he's supposed to be hungover and miserable.

They watch some rom-com neither of them had ever heard of, and it was so not funny it was funny, and they laughed, and every once in a while Courfeyrac would lean in and whisper into Jehan's ear comments like "seems he's a little bit…tied up at the moment" or "she's either got a gun in her pocket or she's pleased to see him," stupid comments that were even worse than the jokes in the movie, but Jehan can't help but laughing anyways.

Afterwards, Courfeyrac grabs Jehan by the hand without even thinking and pulls him to a place down the street where they each buy a cone of ice cream and as they're walking, Courfeyrac tries to take a lick of Jehan's cone. Jehan laughs and pushes Courfeyrac's head away from him.

They walk aimlessly for a while after finishing their ice cream, talking about the weather and how stupid college is. They share school gossip and "I'm pretty sure my politics professor is pregnant" comments and sometimes Courfeyrac gets Jehan to recite a little bit of classic poetry.

"Do you ever read your poems?" Courfeyrac asks. "You know, out loud?"

Jehan blushes at that, though he doesn't know why. "No. They'd sound dumb said out loud."

Courfeyrac fakes a gasp. "You can't be serious. Your poetry was practically made to be said out loud!" And then he nudges Jehan's shoulder. "Read me one. You've got to have memorized one. Say it. Say it right now."

And after much protest, Jehan finally does. But it's in another language and Courfeyrac can't understand a damn word. He frowns and juts out his bottom lip in a pout. "You did that on purpose you little bastard."

Jehan just winks at him.

They spent quite a long time sitting on the curb of the street, engaging in more small talk, Courfeyrac taking out Jehan's bun and playing with Jehan's hair, and Jehan really wishes he had brushed it this morning.

Before today, Courfeyrac hadn't known how to braid. Jehan teaches him, and after a few practice runs Courfeyrac has successfully braided the length of Jehan's hair. Afterwards, Jehan hid tiny little braids all over Courfeyrac's hair and giggled as the dark-haired man struggled to take out every single one. After the ordeal, two braids remained, but Jehan couldn't bring himself to tell him, and so they stayed.

When evening falls, they head into a diner. Jehan just wants a chicken sandwich, but Courfeyrac decides it's a good idea to purchase the whopping full pound if-you-eat-it-all-it's-fee bacon burger just for shits and giggles he says (but really it's because he's running low on cash).

A tiny crowd gathers around them and Jehan watches in horror as Courfeyrac tries to take bite after bite. "Courf, you're going to kill yourself," he protests, but Courfeyrac insists he can do it.

"I'm going to have a heart attack," he eventually says with about ten huge bites left. "Oh god, I think I'm having one right now."

Jehan only crosses his arms over his chest. "I wouldn't doubt it." But he's smiling anyways.

In the end, it's Jehan's strange and sudden cheerleading that gets Courfeyrac to the finish line, swallowing the last of the burger and even licking his fingers clean before throwing his arms in the air triumphantly. His and Jehan's picture get tacked up on the pounder wall of fame, and then Courfeyrac slams his head into the table and groans like he's dying.

"Slow down Prouvaire," Courfeyrac moans, clutching his stomach, but Jehan just turns around and starts walking backwards at the same exact pace.

"You're an idiot," he says. "A real dumb idiot."

"So I've been told."

"Why the _hell_ did you do that?"

In response, Courfeyrac pulls his wallet out of his pocket and shows it to Jehan. It's empty, save for a few quarters and a dime.

Jehan halts in his tracks and actually looks guilty. "Courf…" he sighs. "You should have told me. You didn't have to pay for everything, I have money too." To prove it, he takes out his own wallet and removes a few bills, including at least two twenties, and holds it out for Courfeyrac to take.

Courfeyrac rejects it, waving his hand in dismissal. "I don't want your money, Prouvaire. I'll be on a tight budget for a while but I'm getting my allowance in a week or so, so I'm fine."

Jehan tries once more to hand the money over, but with no avail, so he tucks the bills back into his wallet and the wallet into his back pocket.

The stars are just barely beginning to peek out when they step foot back on campus. Courfeyrac leaves Jehan at the foot of his dorm building and they exchange small smiles.

"Thanks, Courf," Jehan says, fiddling with a loose strand of hair. "I actually had a lot of fun. It was almost worth blowing off lit analysis."

"Yeah," Courfeyrac nods. "Me too, Prouvaire."

And he's gone before either of them can say another word.

It's only when Jehan opens the door to his room that the entire day finally sinks into his stomach like a rock. He slumps past a confused Enjolras and sits on the edge of his bed, a hand over his middle, and he feels sicker than Courfeyrac probably felt after eating that damn burger.

It wasn't a date. It just wasn't a date. Today had been two platonic friends on an outing, watching a movie alone, stealing each other's ice cream, braiding each other's hair, and sharing a meal. Fuck.

And Courfeyrac is probably going to pick up a one night stand on the way home.

Jehan holds a hand over his mouth like he's going to be sick.

Enjolras notices. "The toilet is that way," he points in the direction of the bathroom.

"Enjolras you're an _ass_," Jehan moaned, sprawling out on his bed.

And then Enjolras clears his throat. "Are you…" he hesitates. "Are you going to be okay?"

Jehan props himself up on his elbows to smirk at his roommate. "Is the great Enjolras finally caring about something other than social justice?"

"Shut the hell up," Enjolras hisses, throwing a nearby pillow at Jehan's face. "Forget I even asked."

* * *

Courfeyrac shifts through the contacts on his phone and ghosts over Jehan's name. He chickens out, however, and calls the next person on his list.

About five minutes later, a tall, lanky brunette boy shows up at his door already half naked. He peeks into the room and questions "where's Marius?"

Courfeyrac shrugs. "I think he's pretty much unofficially moved in with Cosette. Half his stuff is gone anyways so more room for me I guess. And for whomever I bring home." And he winks once before he leans forward to kiss the man square on the lips.

Halfway through intercourse, the brunette runs his hands through Courfeyrac's hair and freezes. "Couf?"

Courfeyrac groans. "What?"

"Why do you have braids in your hair?"

This time Courfeyrac freezes as well. _Jehan_.


	5. someone gets harassed and it's not Jehan

Jehan and Courfeyrac catch each other in the café for the first time nearly two weeks later. They go through their routine; Courfeyrac snatches up and reads whatever Jehan is working on, they have a small conversation, and part ways.

four days later, they run into each other again, and after Courfeyrac reads Jehan's poems, he slips the poet a number. Jehan takes it and raises a confused eyebrow. "That's a dorm building," Courfeyrac explains. "Three days from now it's going to be a party zone. I heard there was going to be a slip-n-slide. You in?"

Jehan snorts, knowing perfectly well what happened during the last party. "No, Courf. Thanks for the offer."

"Ah come on," Courfeyrac pouts. "Nothing will happen. I won't even give you alcohol, I swear it."

His pout makes Jehan's heart skip a beat and he can't even remember how to pronounce the word 'no' so he just nods. "Okay."

The weather's been growing warmer. When Courfeyrac walks up to Jehan, the poet is sporting a thin, light purple long-sleeved V-neck and a pair of light blue jeans-hole free this time. His hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail and he's never looked gayer.

"You've never looked gayer," Courfeyrac snorts.

"Really cute, Courf," Jehan retorts.

They spend most of the evening in the same position they were in during their last party together, with Jehan backed against the wall and Courfeyrac in front of him, only Courfeyrac was the only one holding a beer this time. They engage in meaningless chatter, mostly mutually complaining about whatever song was currently playing.

At one point in time, they actually do end up on the slip-n-slide. Jehan is fully clothed when he slides down the slippery plastic, but Courfeyrac strips all the way down to his boxers. After about four or five turns, both of them are completely soaking wet and covered in carpet burn because that slip-n-slide really isn't as slippery as its name would suggest.

They're laughing with each other in their own soaked clothing when Enjolras walks up to them with a horrified expression on his face.

"Enj!" Jehan gasps. "Why are you here?"

Enjolras rolls his eyes. "I can't freaking study with all this noise so I was going to try to find whoever started this damn party and force him to shut down."

Courfeyrac slings a wet arm around Enjolras, who promptly shoves him away. "Ah come oh Enjolras, don't be like that. It's not our fault you're genetically incapable of having fun."

"I am not incapable of-oh my god."

All three of them watch in amazement as Joly screams the entire way down the slip-in-slide before scrambling back to his feet and telling everyone to move out of the way, he's going in again.

Enjolras is furious. "He's a pre-med student! How the hell does he have time for all of this nonsense?"

Jehan has to bit his lip to keep from bursting into laughter. He's also shaking, cold in his incredibly wet clothes.

Enjolras swears rather loudly before giving up and storming away from the crowd. Courfeyrac and Jehan exchange a round of laughter before Jehan excuses himself to find a bathroom and by association some towels to dry off in.

Jehan's hair is soaking wet. He stares at himself in the bathroom mirror and squeezes as much liquid from his hair as he possibly can. He then peels off his cold, wet shirt, crying out in disgust the entire time, and wrings it out in the sink. When he dries his torso off with a warm towel, he immediately feels so much better-but not until he seriously regrets taking off his shirt because now he'll never be able to get it back on. Putting on wet clothes is pretty much one of the worst feelings in the universe. It shouldn't matter anyways, about half the people outside weren't even wearing pants, much less shirts. So he focuses on drying his hair out as much as possible.

While staring at himself in the mirror, he can't help but smile. He really is having fun tonight. He's one hundred percent sober, and Courfeyrac has been distracting enough that Jehan hasn't even thought about him-which is a strange concept that seems kind of contradictory, but it works out in Jehan's mind.

He reluctantly takes his wet shirt out of the sink when he feels dry enough in his pants to move without walking funny and exits the bathroom half-naked.

When he peeks outside, Courfeyrac isn't near the slip-n-slide anymore. He must be inside.

Of course, ten thousand other students are also inside. Jehan scans the scene, but can't make out Courfeyrac's face in the crowd anywhere. Luckily, there is someone's face he recognizes.

"Bahorel!" Jehan calls out, walking up to the part-time barista. "Hey, have you seen Courfeyrac?"

"Uh…" Bahorel taps his chin with his index finger. He's so fucking drunk right now. And probably slightly high. Who knows. "I think he went upstairs?"

"Thanks," Jehan taps Bahorel's shoulder and walks to the direction of the stairs.

He should have known.

What else do people do upstairs during parties anyways?

Oh, young and naïve little Jehan, he should have known.

They weren't even in a _room_, though. They were just…there, right there in the middle of the hallway for everybody to see, both of them. He's just kneeling there on the ground, nuzzling against Courfeyrac's clothed crotch and Courfeyrac, back flat against the wall, is just standing there with a dazed expression and a hand fisted in short red hair.

They don't notice Jehan.

Jehan turns away, but he still hears Courfeyrac let out a long drawn out moan before he's running back down the stairs wishing he had known better. He should have known, he really should have.

As he runs back to his own dorm building, cold and wet shirt in his hand, cold and wet hair slapping him in the face, he tries to reassure himself that this is nothing new. This is Courfeyrac, after all, and Jehan knows what Courfeyrac does. Everybody knows. They just sort of accept it. Nobody dares to have the guts to pursue a long-term relationship with Courfeyrac because Courfeyrac is completely unapproachable.

Why is Jehan so upset? It's not like Courfeyrac was cheating on him or anything-they weren't even in a relationship. They'd never even gone on a date (that wasn't a date.)

Jehan throws the door open, making Enjolras nearly jump out of his seat at his desk. And he looks just about ready to cry.

Enjolras actually looks concerned. "What did he do?"

Jehan just lets out an exasperated sigh and sits cross-legged in the middle of his bed. "Enjolras, am I an idiot?"

Enjolras moves himself from his position to seat himself on the edge of Jehan's bed, looking the poet in the eyes. "Yes. Excruciatingly so."

Jehan lets out a disapproving moan and covers his face with his hands. Then he begins to cry.

"Hey," Enjolras tries to soothe him. "Hey, it's…okay." Except Enjolras sucks at sympathy. And advice. And overall consolation.

"I hate him," Jehan takes a pillow and throws it across the room as hard as he can. "I really fucking hate him."

Jehan throws a fit for a good few minutes and doesn't rest until all of the pillows and blankets and even bedsheets on both his and Enjolras's bed are strewn all over the floor (Enjolras will make him clean it up of course).

Then, Jehan officially loses himself. "I…" he begins. "I need…"

"What?" Enjolras asks. "What do you need? Water?"

Jehan shakes his head furiously.

"Dry pants?"

Well, yes. But no. Jehan shakes his head again.

"Then what?"

Jehan bites his lip.

"What?"

"Can I kiss you?"

"_What_?"

Jehan doesn't laugh or even smile. He looks completely sincere. Oh god he's freaking serious.

"You're delusional," Enjolras reasons. "It's late. Go to sleep."

"Please Enj," Jehan exhales, gripping onto Enjolras's sleeve. "Just tonight. Just this once. I know you don't…but please Enj, I need it. I need it so bad." He looks like a kicked puppy dog. But at least he isn't crying anymore.

Enjolras takes a deep breath and sits completely still. He does not move a single bone in his body. This is his way of voicing his consent.

Jehan's lips against his are soft, tender, and perhaps a little unsure. It isn't as disgusting as Enjolras thought it would be, but there obviously aren't any sparks flying or anything dumb like that.

Enjolras keeps completely still as Jehan leans into him, his hands on Enjolras's shoulders. Jehan moves his mouth over Enjolras's stone stiff lips, not caring if Enjolras is ever going to react or not.

Enjolras keeps his eyes closed the entire time and does not object to anything Jehan does, even when Jehan pushes him down onto the bed and climbs on top of him in his still semi-wet pants to kiss him deeper, harder.

He can hear Jehan choke back a sob, and then his lips are free. He feels Jehan's bodyweight disappear and he sits back up. As soon as he does so, he's getting smack right across the face.

"What the hell?" He snaps, and he's startled to see Jehan staring at him in the worst way imaginable.

"No you, what the hell?" Jehan barks back, raising his hand as if to strike Enjolras again, but Enjolras throws up his own hands for self-defense just in case. Jehan grits his teeth and then lets his hand drop to his side. "Why do you always have to care about everybody but yourself?!"

Enjolras is completely shocked by Jehan's obviously rhetorical question.

And then Jehan draws his legs into his chest and buries his face in his knees. "How could you let me do that to you?"

"I told you that you could," Enjolras tried to assure him. "You didn't do anything against my will."

"You didn't want it," Jehan argued. "I don't know why I did that."

Enjolras sighs and gives his roommate an awkward pat on the back. "Go to sleep, Jehan. Get out of those pants and just go to sleep."

Jehan eventually scoots off the bed however reluctantly and turns towards his wardrobe to unbutton his pants and change into something soft and warm and most importantly, dry.

Enjolras pauses for a second before hopping onto his own bed, grabbing his phone, and sending a very angry text.

**Courfeyrac, I'm going to fucking kill you. -E**


	6. count the cliches

"He kissed me."

Courfeyrac snaps his head up to stare at Enjolras in shock.

"Just thought you'd like to know." Enjolras shrugs and takes a bite of his salad. They're both fresh out of world history class and taking a break in the nearest cafeteria. Enjolras is a hardcore vegan, so he spends most of his meal picking out each disgusting piece of shredded cheese on his plate. Courfeyrac was finished with his meal about ten minutes ago.

Courfeyrac snorts. "Why should I care who he kisses? It's not like we're together or anything."

Enjolras shoots him an annoyed glare. "Don't you want to know why?"

"Okay then," Courfeyrac smirks, resting his elbows on the table. "Why did the romantic poet Jehan Prouvaire kiss a stuck-up liberalist virgin?"

Enjolras decides to let that slide, although he does grimace a bit. "It's because he hates you."

Courfeyrac almost laughs. "Oooh is that all?"

"Stop it," Enjolras suddenly snaps. "Stop acting all high and mighty. He saw you last night. He told me right before class. He saw some redhead about to give you a blowjob in the fucking hallway."

Courfeyrac is a bit taken aback. He leans away from the table and looks at Enjolras again, but his face is unsure, unsteady even. "So?" He retorts, but his voice cracks. "It's none of his business who I fuck. He knows I sleep around."

"You're an _idiot_, Courfeyrac," Enjolras growls. "He likes you. He's in love with you."

"You just said he hated me!"

"Oh my god." Enjolras wants to pull out his own hair.

"And why do you have to be the one to tell me this anyways, hmm?" Courfeyrac says, suddenly angry. "Prouvaire's a big boy, he can talk on his own."

In a flash, Enjolras is over the table with a fistful of Courfeyrac's shirt and Courfeyrac's eyes are wide, his mouth gaped open. "You don't understand," Enjolras snarls. "He was so scary last night. Jehan is calm and collected and sensible. He plays the fucking flute for God's sake, and he writes poetry and he keeps growing flowers on our windowsill. If you look up the word 'composed' in the dictionary, all it says is 'Jean Prouvaire,' and last night he fucking broke. His thought was completely irrational, he was the complete opposite of composed, and he _kissed_ me, and it's all your fault because you can't grow up and talk about your stupid little feelings. So you listen to me, Courfeyrac, because I'm only going to say this once. You're going to fix this. I don't care how you do it. Start a relationship with him, drop out of school and let him forget about you altogether, kill him and bury his body outside of campus, I don't care so long as it's over because I am _not_ fucking dealing with that again." He lets go of Courfeyrac's shirt with a shove and slides back into his own seat hoping he hadn't attracted too much attention. Luckily when he looks around, everyone else seems too busy in their own affairs.

Courfeyrac is completely stunned, his entire body frozen in shock for a solid minute before he finally closes his mouth. He stares straight ahead, but not at Enjolras in particular. He thinks about Jehan. Poor sweet Jehan, Courfeyrac's little flower, the only one he did not want to defile. He wanted to lock Jehan in a cage and keep him pretty and innocent. He wanted Jehan to write beautiful happy poetry and smile and constantly tuck that rebellious strand of blond hair behind his ear. He wanted to hear Jehan get passionate about everything he said, and see his bright eyes radiating all across the room. But Jehan was not writing happy poetry. He was not smiling or radiating light from anywhere. Courfeyrac had no idea it would come to this. Jehan, oh Jehan.

Courfeyrac stands up abruptly and leaves the table without saying a word.

Enjolras immediately forgets the entire conversation and spends the next ten minutes continuing to pick the cheese off his salad.

It starts raining in the early afternoon. Jehan gets caught in it after class and ends up soaking wet by the time he reaches the dorm. His immediate action is to head into the bathroom, strip completely, and take the warmest shower ever, because the best way to combat getting wet is by intentionally getting wet for some odd reason.

When he's nice and dry, he's still a bit chilly so he throws on a plain light-green sweater and slips into a pair of pastel pink jeans. Then he sits on the edge of his bed and contemplates what to do next. He has homework, but he doesn't feel like doing it. Not that anyone ever really feels like doing homework (Enjolras doesn't count) but still. So he grabs his poetry journal and revises an old poem.

As he does so, he hums. He knows he's oddly happy considering what happened last night, but he'd woken up anew, went to a class he liked, had a nice warm shower, and was now working on his poetry, so he really can't help but crack a smile. He tries not to think of Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac? Who is that?

Just as he finally settles down, however, the doorbell specific to his room rings from outside the dorm building. He's confused, not expecting anybody, and Enjolras is still at class so he shouldn't be expecting anybody either, but he sighs and climbs off his bed anyways.

When he opens the door, he immediately shuts it again.

He takes a deep breath, tries not to look shocked out of his mind, and slowly opens it again to reveal a very wet Courfeyrac standing outside in the pouring rain looking very, very miserable.

"Oh my god!" Jehan gasps.

"Oh my god is right," Courfeyrac replies. "Why the fuck did you slam the door on my face?"

"I…" Jehan stammers, but he can't even finish his sentence. "I…what are you doing here?"

"We need to talk."

"Do you…want to come in?" Jehan looks at him rather concerned. Courfeyrac does not look very happy in the rain. Then again, most people wouldn't be.

But Courfeyrac shakes his head. "No, it'll just make things harder. I just…" he takes a deep breath.

There's a very hesitant pause, and Jehan shoots him his best 'I'm waiting' face.

Courfeyrac wants to back out. He wants to turn around and run. Dropping out of school is suddenly becoming the most appealing solution. But he's looking at Jehan and all he sees is golden beauty. There's ink on Jehan's fingers-he was writing poetry. Courfeyrac wonders if it was happy or sad poetry. He can't bear to see Jehan writing sad poetry any longer.

It comes as a very startling surprise when Jehan is being dragged out of the building by the hand. He protests and shouts, but Courfeyrac is stronger than him and he ends up back in the rain again.

And then Courfeyrac grabs Jehan's face and kisses him.

Jehan makes a muffled noise of astonishment, but does nothing to stop Courfeyrac. Instead, after a few seconds of frozen shock, his own hands snake around the back of Courfeyrac's neck, fingers sliding into curly dark hair.

It's cold and wet and they're both soaked and chilled to the bone. Jehan won't stop shaking he's so cold, but his mind doesn't register his body's protests because it's not focusing on anything but kissing Courfeyrac.

It's such a tender kiss. Their first was rough and forceful, but now Courfeyrac strokes down Jehan's jawline over and over and moves his mouth over Jehan's slow and lazily. Jehan's fingers tremble around Courfeyrac's neck, it's so cold he can't even feel them, but he can still feel the softness of Courfeyrac's skin, of his hair. And maybe Jehan even prays. Please God, if this is a dream, may I stay asleep for all eternity.

Jehan breaks first, inhaling sharply and maintaining as close a distance to Courfeyrac as he possibly can without their lips touching. His fingers stay in Courfeyrac's hair and his body continues shivering, but he's practically grinning from ear to ear.

Courfeyrac continues stroking Jehan's face as he presses their foreheads together. Then he gives the poet a quick kiss on the nose-he's at the perfect height to do so after all- and asks "okay now?"

And Jehan leans forward to rest his head on Courfeyrac's soaking wet shoulder. "The world is full of stars but I am the sun, brighter than all the rest."

That's a line from one of Jehan's poem Courfeyrac had once read. And hearing the words straight out of the poet's mouth makes Courfeyrac's heart skip a couple beats.

"Courfeyrac?" Jehan says after a rather content sigh.

"Hmm?" the taller man responds, wrapping his arms around Jehan's back and pulling him close.

"You were right. Kissing in the rain really isn't as romantic as I thought it'd be."

When they're both inside, dry, and decent, they lay together on Jehan's bed side by side. The air is calm and they are at peace as Courfeyrac picks up a strand of Jehan's hair and twirls it, occasionally taking the lock to his mouth and kissing it.

"Courf?" Jehan asks rather softly, as if not wanting to disturb the quiet.

"Yes, my little poet?" Courfeyrac kisses Jehan's hair again.

Jehan hesitates. Courfeyrac notices and frowns a bit. "Listen…" Jehan sighs. "At that party, the first one we went to, you know, when you first kissed me…I said I wanted you. I said I wanted you, and that I didn't care if you slept around or spent the night with other people, but…I really don't think I could handle that. Not like this."

Courfeyrac's heart sinks in his chest. He remembers Jehan's words very clearly. They had hurt before, and they had hurt now. Jehan is the epitome of talent and beauty and it had hurt Courfeyrac to hear him say he would be okay if Courfeyrac still slept with others. That was not what Jehan deserved. He deserved someone who would love him wholeheartedly, and perhaps Courfeyrac did not yet know if he was able to do this, but dammit, he would try for his precious flower.

He scoots up closer to Jehan and plants a kiss on the top of Jehan's hair. "Jean," he whispers. "So long as I am with you, I will not touch another human being."

Maybe it was too big of a promise. Maybe both of them knew that. But maybe it just didn't matter quite yet.


End file.
